Trickles
by baldrim
Summary: I'm borrowing the Yellowstone Universe to play around in, no disrespect to original author intended. Younger Marie, learns control of skin, hasn't absorbed many humans or mutants. FeralLogan- gratuitous growling and manliness. Neither hooked up with the Xmen. Everything is strictly first draft. All constructive criticism welcome.
1. Prologue - Logan (part 1)

**Author's note:** I finally figured out why my text was dense and a little stale - I need to be showing, not telling! Less talky, more doey. This is my first real fic in more years than I care to remember, and my third attempt overall. I'm going to be pretty fucking rusty, and it's up to you if you want to go on this ride with me. That being said, I proudly present: Trickles - A story set in a post apocalyptic universe where there aren't any other X Men (yet?) because I wanted to focus on quality of characters over quantity of characters this try. It has a weird ass name because I'm going to be transcribing one small chunk of text at a time, so as not to overwhelm myself. The following is my attempt to transcribe the first draft version of the prologue.

Constructive criticism would be immensely helpful.

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(Original Text:)

Logan had been alone for some time when he finally came back to himself. He could tell, because the room was filthy with his waste, and his body felt dessicated, like the cheap trucker's jerky sold at the most remote stops in the Northern Wilds. Thirst couldn't kill him, but oh how he wished he were dead. He also knew he was suffering the mother of all hangovers from withdrawing from the cocktail of drugs they had used to keep him stupefied and docile.

(Revised copy:)

"Rrngh…" Pain like shards of glass blossomed along his throat. _Fuck. _His throat hurt. His head hurt. In fact, his entire body ached like nothing he'd ever felt before. _What the hell did I do last night to deserve this kind of hangover?_ The slow trickle of information started percolating around in his aching mind then.

_Oh god. I'm not in the camper sleepin' it off. They got me back. They got me and I'm in some god damned lab like an animal again. What did they do to me? I'm near dead, why didn't they finish the job? _He took a quick mental stock of his body. _I'm in a rough way. I gotta.. I gotta get out of here. It don't look like they're coming back for me. What happened?_

_Well, Bub, time to rescue yourself again. Questions can come later._

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End Notes: Well? Am I on the right track? Please let me know!


	2. Prologue - Logan (part 2)

Author's Note: Part two of me figuring out how to fan fic. As before, I'm transcribing a chunk of the dusty first draft into a more palatable format. I.. I think I'm getting the hang of this? I'm still having a hard time maintaining writing style and deciding just how much narration should be going on. What do you think?

Constructive criticism would be immensely helpful.

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(Original Text)

The dark cell stank of waste, and death. So much death that it oozed from the walls and permeated even the atoms that formed the underground complex. Even with his senses dulled by dehydration, starvation, and having woken up in the funk Logan gagged painfully. The slow crawl to the door was one of the longest journeys of his life, and he had no idea how many times he passed out on the way. The familiar pain of extending one of his claws felt like it should have ended him. The metal dragged and ripped through every dry centimeter of his flesh, and the screams dragged and ripped from his throat in equal measures of pain. He didn't even bleed when it finally emerged - none left to spare.

(Revised Text)

_Find the door. Move your ass, Wolverine. _He tried sitting up from his supine position on the floor. _SONUVABITCH OH FUCK! _Logan revised his earlier estimate of how painful this would be and how long it would take. His throat had fresh shards-of-glass-pain in it too, so he must've forced some sorta noise out. _Ok, just one step at a time, Bub. Roll over._

He knew what to brace himself for so it was easier this time. _Heh, this reminds me of.. _Mentally he trailed off, and the fleeting fragment of memory abandoned him. _They fucked around in my head again. When I find those fuckers, I'm gonna make em pay. _Rage was good - rage was fuel. So he clutched and held to him every scrap of it. _I'm gonna find em and gut em. I'm gonna gut em and sew em up and gut em again… Then I'm gonna string em up and make a banjo with their stinkin guts. And use their sorry hides to make a drum set.. And make them play their own funeral dirge.. And then they're gonna dance on their own graves… _

Logan knew the word for his insane ramblings - delirious. It was just another strike against his captors, in his mind, for putting him in this state. From the way some of those ramblings took visual form, he guessed he'd passed out a couple of times on the way but that didn't matter now. _Ok, this is where the different smell is coming from. Oh fuck, what if it's a fuckin vent? Shit, I didn't thinka that. Oh, it is the door. Thank fuck. Time to blow this joint._

"Rrrraah!" _Fuckshitfuckgoddamnowowow. _He panted and tried to clench his teeth against the pain of extending one claw. _Ok. Ok. Claw out. Find the lock… MOTHERFUCKER OW. Ok. Stop being such a fuckin pansy ass, the hard part is over._


	3. Prologue - Logan (part 3)

(Original Text:)

After Logan managed to slice the lock on the door he made a slow arduous trek to the tiny cafeteria. The sink didn't work, but the fridge had been well stocked with water bottles. He punctured the first one (he hadn't been able to force himself to retract it yet) and let it dribble into his mouth, and then passed out. Logan repeated the cycle of wake, drink, sleep, three more times when he felt the call of nature, which was a good sign. The fact that he answered that call on the decaying corpse of what had been one of his 'caretakers' was probably poetic justice. He was starting to feel a little more himself on the next cycle, even a little bit hungry. That was saying something, since the the stench grew noticeably worse each waking cycle. The protein bars were pretty much all that was left, on this level at least. They'd do. They gave him just enough energy to sponge himself off with some of the remaining water and dress himself in some dead fool's spare clothes.

(Revised Text:)

_I can finally breath. That's good. I couldn't tell how bad it was in there till I got this door open. Probably ain't too good, breathin' those fumes. Turns into ammonia, and god knows what else. Fuck. it's so red in here. It's eerie. Real fuckin eerie. Is it my eyes, cuz they're so dry? Alright, just gotta.. Ah, shit. _Logan had tried standing up, aided by the door frame._ Ok, it's ok, just a slip. Just gotta get up on my feet. It smells fresher over there. Just slide along the wall… OH CHRIST. Open door. I probably shoulda thought of that. I shoulda SEEN that. Fuck._

_*Sniff sniff* Hey.. I smell plumbing. That means water. Logan struggled to get up once more, but only managed to reach his hands and knees. Good enough. Gotta get some water, NOW. Bingo. Now to pull myself up… Now to try the knobs… Sigh. Of course. No fucking water. Red light, no water. This really is hell._ He turned around and slid down the cabinets, defeated for the moment.

_What the fuck is that? Is that a water bottle?_ He secured the bottle and poked a hole in it with the still protruding claw._ I bet there's more of these in the fridge. Can't let the science-fuckers get thirsty. I'mma find em. Every one of them. And when I do…_

Thoughts of vengeance were his lullabies for the next days as he rehydrated his body and worked on being able to stand upright. He was mildly disappointed when he discovered the bloating corpses littering the facility, but he was able to to work through some of his anger by using them as target practice for the inevitable results of rehydration.

_Thanks for the duds, fucker. Hope you like piss in your face. Nice hair, you evil sonuvabitch. Looks much nicer now that you're dead and covered in piss. I hope you felt that all the way from hell, you piece of shit. I'm fuckin outta here. Enjoy your eternity of rotting._


	4. Prologue - Logan (part 4)

**Author's Note:** For the love of little apples, I need some beta feedback. Or at least some nitpicking reviews. Am I doing alright?

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(Original Text:)

All in all it took him probably a week to find his way out of the facility once he had awoken that first time. Everyone there was dead, either by the virus or from neglect afterword. The generators powering the red tinged backup lighting had failed the day before he made it out, but by that time he could rely on his other senses.

(Revised Text:)

Logan took one last look at the bottom level where he'd been recovering his strength. _Good riddance. Maybe your upstairs neighbors won't be so useless. Maybe pigs'll fly too. God damned piles of garbage in skin sacks, all of them. I wish I coulda killed you all myself._ If he were honest with himself though, he was more than relieved to be making his way outside.

The upper levels were just as fruitless though. _Motherfuckers never heard of printing shit? _He was used to the red lighting by this time, but the power grid didn't seem to be attached to any of the computer terminals, and all of the paperwork he found could fit into one enraged fist. They all mentioned something called "the Legacy Virus" which was supposed to off all the mutants, but mutated (Logan really appreciated the humor of that) to kill humans too. _I guess they got what was coming to em. Still… I'da liked to gut a few all the same._

The top floor was made mostly of hallways and offices. One of the hallways had a big exit sign and one of those 'You are HERE' maps on them so Logan looked at it for a minute before deciding to raid the fancy kitchen at the other end. _Probably gonna be the last twinkie I eat. _The realization gave him an odd pang that someone else might have thought of as regret or nostalgia. _I like meat better anyway. I'm fucking tired. One more sleep. Then I'll go face whatever is out there._

"GRRRAAAAAAHHH!" Jesus. He had to stop waking up like this. _Just a nightmare. Ain't no one can hurt me anymore. Just a nightmare. _He tried to shake off the afterimages. Bright lights. Sterile chemical smell. Usual fucking lab shit. Always, some looney fucking doctor running off at the mouth explaining to who-the-fuck-knows-or-cares what their master motherfucking plan was. _I really hate doctors. Christ on a cracker. At least the claws are workin right again. I got that goin for me. Oh what the fuck, where did the hell-lights go? _The compound was deathly silent now, which meant the generators had given out. _Time to exit stage left. Alright world, let's see watcha got._


	5. Prologue - Logan (part 5)

**Author's Note:** This time I'm going to try something a little bit different: incorporating original text into revised copy. I've been working on good ways to do that, but with the support of a wonderful reviewer, I think I actually have the balls to try it now. (Here's looking at you, ScruffyLovin!)

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_I did it. I survived. On the other side of that door is freedom. _He stood there a moment in the grip of an unnamable emotion. He unsheathed his claws with a **snick** and shredded the last barrier keeping him from the world.

_Let the animals and the weather take this godforsaken place, make it clean again. I don't think I'm gonna forget this, this moment right here. The world seems so bright and clean and pure. The air… Oh god. I didn't really think I would ever breath clean air again._

It was night, but it was the clear bright night of early summer in the unspoiled mountain ranges. He wept then. Joyfully, sorrowfully, hysterically, and then later the calm cleansing tears of a man redeemed.

Logan had never been happier in his life. Nothing, not the nightmares, not the huge chunks of missing history, not the absence of any people - human or mutant - nothing could extinguish this fierce inner glow nestled deep inside of him.

_It's time to live. Let's see… There should be something decent in the parking lot. Jeep, no. Another Jeep, fuck off. I shoulda grabbed some keys or something. Oh shit, jackpot. I wonder which one of those animals had the hard on for crotch rockets? Fuckin awful taste in bikes. Not really mountain fare either. Must be some kinda town near by. _He popped a claw in the key mechanism and turned. It purred. He spared one last glance around before riding down the only road leading away from his past, and toward his future.

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End notes: That was a little more nerve-racking than I thought it would be. How successful was I?


	6. Prologue - Logan (part 6)

**Author's Note:** This is the last of the Logan Prologues. I've been considering whether to condense the chunks into one longer chapter, but that would be untrue to the title and would probably (definitely) involve another rewrite. Frankly, I just want to move on with the story. I'm going to be doing the integration thing for a couple more chapters, I think, and then I'd like to work on extending chapter length a tad. I wanted to personally thank two reviewers but suffered a last minute bout of "Oh fuck, what if they don't want to be mentioned? That would be totally rude of me." So, you guys know who you are, and you should also know that I think you're fucking rad. And thank you. One last cheesy side note - I've been listening to one songza station while writing, and it is a huge source of inspiration. If you wanted to get into my headspace while you're reading this, try looking for "A Stiff Drink In A Dim Place".

_Updated note:_ Trigger warning for minor reference to crimes against women.

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He hummed an old soulful song to himself as he wove around the abandoned vehicles. It was second nature to ignore the former occupants now. The last two towns he had passed had all been abandoned. He assumed that he was now passing some of the former occupants who had tried to flee the virus. It was a futile effort, according to the documents he'd found. The virus had an incubation period of anywhere from 4 to 9 months, and could spread itself through air, water, bodily fluids and contact with anything an infected person had spit, bled, sweat, came or even breathed on in the last 6 months. The only escape was immunity.

_It'll be good to get to the city and see the way of things. If there's anything left, I should be able to find some of it in Vancouver. Port cities always attract people. Hmm, time to fuel up again. Better top off the extra tanks too. Never know. Ugh, god I hate that taste. If I never have to siphon another fuckin' car as long as I live, I- What the fuck is that._

He was crouched between cars when a glance to his left revealed a commotion a few hundred yards from the pavement. He would never had seen it if he hadn't stopped for gas. His heart clenched painfully in his chest when he spotted a blue figure hashed with crimson wounds, thrashing and clawing fiercely at any reachable part of the three men holding her down for their sport. The next few minutes were indistinct in his memory, but when the last human lay dead at his feet she'd lost consciousness. There was too much blood outside of her, and too much in the wrong places inside. Logan tried to make her more comfortable and sat next to her until her heart stopped beating. Afterward he buried her a few hundred feet away from the road in a little stand of trees. He left the others where they fell. When he got back on his bike it was pointed the way he came, and this time he didn't look around before he left.

**A Few Months Later…**

Logan wasn't ready to see any living people. So he'd decided not to. Instead he had turned around and headed back into the mountains, and found a secluded area a great distance from human touch of any kind. He built himself a life there. Occasional scavenging trips gave him the tools and raw materials he couldn't make himself, and supplied the few vices he allowed himself like whiskey and cigars. It was a good life. The house was complete well before the first winter set in and he'd even managed to accumulate some reserves. Logan was content.

_I love swinging the axe. Sure, I could make firewood with my claws, but this just feels right. It's got a good rhythm. Plus, it burns better all chunked up like this. I wonder if I could haul a stove up here? There's that truck I saw at the old Ranger's Station, that would work._ He put down the axe and started stacking logs in the lean-to he'd added to the southern side of his rude cottage. _Almost full. Oughtta take me through to Spring, easy. 'Bout time to make a supply run anyway. Yeah, that's what I'll do…_ He still shied away from going South East, or to any former settlement larger than a small city. There were plenty of small places though, and he hadn't seen anyone since that day. He planned to keep it that way.

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End Notes: I think I swung the pendulum too hard in the other direction (Show vs. Tell) in my early chapters, and so I tried for more of a mellow trajectory this time. I still have the irritating tendency to reuse words, and I still have to figure out how to balance internal monologue and narration, both stylistically and content-wise. And there hasn't been very much spoken word just yet because that's part of the 'feralization' of the Wolverine, sorta - getting him unused to verbalizing, isolating him from social conventions. I don't know. I just know this is really fucking fun to do. :) Please point out any and all errors you find - I'd take it as a personal favor.


	7. Prologue - Marie (part 1)

**Author's Note:** It's come to my attention that I'm operating under the false assumption that everyone knows what the heck I'm talking about - I hate it when I make an ass out of myself. Mibad.

To find the original fic look for Terri's Peep Hut.

So, a short introduction to the Yellowstone Universe:

At some point in the early 2000s, a fuckawesome ficauthor wrote an AU multi-series titled Seasons In Yellowstone. It's based loosely on some events from The Stand (Stephen King) and is set in a post Mutant Registration Act X-Men universe. In this universe, the humans released a virus that was supposed to kill all the mutants, but the virus itself mutated and ended up killing more than 98% of humans and 90% of mutants. Society crumbled. If I tell you any more than that I fear I'll spoil the read, so I'm gonna stop here and just urge the shit out of you to stop what you're doing and go find it right now.

I've rewritten a little bit of the last chapter to clarify some of the events. Trigger warning for minor reference to crimes against women.

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**7 Months Earlier…**

The news anchors had been droning on about some sort of Mutant Registration Act for weeks, but like most teens Marie hadn't paid much attention to anything except for plans for the upcoming Homecoming dance. She'd earned the right to date with her sweet 16 early this year, and much of her time was taken up by Cody the Quarterback and and their developing relationship. On Friday morning the Act passed. On Friday afternoon he had asked her to attend the dance with him. Saturday she'd brought him home to meet her parents, and they'd escaped, giggling, up to her room shortly after.

"Niagara Falls, up the Canadian Rockies, and then it's only a few hundred miles to Anchorage." She kneeled on the bed, pointing out her projected adventure.

"Won't it be kinda cold?" He teased.

"Well, that's the point, stupid." She teased back. She crawled away from the map towards his position on the bed, hoping that she looked at least half as sexy as she was trying to be. "Otherwise it wouldn't be an adventure."

"And when are you going to do this?" Marie was enchanted by his attention. She thought his eyes might be the the deepest, most intense eyes she'd ever seen in her life.

"I don't know. After high school, before college." She felt like she was lost in his gaze. His lips… She looked away suddenly. This couldn't be right. This was what Mama warned her about! She had to put a stop to things before they got more heated, even if every hormone raging through her little body told her to go full speed ahead. She met his gaze once more with the intention of urging caution or changing the subject, but got caught in the maelstrom of desire. She managed to part her lips, but made the mistake of gazing at his. Her breath caught in her throat. She met his eyes once more. The inches between them disappeared as each heated second ticked by. Marie finally relinquished control to the surging tide of desire and through hooded eyes she observed as the distance between them finally closed. One chaste kiss faded into a deeper exploration, and her eyes closed as her head tilted. She never thought it could be so sweet, so intense! She started deepening the kiss of her own volition, and after an exquisite moment of sensation she started to notice that he wasn't responding like he had before. Her eyes cracked open.

Something was wrong! Something was very seriously wrong! Cody's grey veined face dropped before her, and his body began to convulse.

"Aaaaahhhhhhhh! AAAAAHHHHHHH!" She jumped away and off of the bed but it was too late. Her mother and father ran into her room at the same time.

"Marie?!" Incredulous expressions assaulted her.

"I don't know what happened! I don't know… I just touched him! I didn't mean…" Her mother tried to grab her and comfort her, but Marie whipped violently back.

"Damn it, call an ambulance!" Her father's angry yell cut somewhat through her panic, but not enough to reach her. Her mother tried grabbing her again.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" That was the last time Marie's parents looked in her eyes. The next day, she tried calling her best friend but there was someone already on the line. It was her father, calling the MRA people. They arranged to come and pick her up on the very next day. For her own good. Her blood went cold, and she knew that she had only one chance. She had to escape.

She managed to keep her tears inside until after her Mom had come to tuck her in that night. Then, she threw everything she thought she might need into an old duffle bag, grabbed her Mom's 'secret' stash of money from couponing and clandestine ebay sales, and started the long hard journey North. With luck, Marie could start over new in Alaska. No one had to know her shame. It would all turn out ok.


	8. Prologue - Marie (part 2)

**Author's Note:** A thousand apologies for the huge delay in updating. I've been trying to get a reserve of text going, which I'm having some mild success with, but it's non sequential. Not quite what I was going for. I've found that I just keep going over what I've written and fussing with it obsessively - which is good for quality but bad for quantity. Also I've been having a fuck of a time trying to finish this prologue, so I'm just going to give you guys the part I'm sorta ok with and work on the rest. That means there will be at least a part three to the Marie Prologues. If you know anyone with an editorial bent and some free time, send 'em my way?

PS - I fucking love reviews.

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"I thought you were taking me to Laughlin City?" The truck driver glanced at her as he walked away.

"This IS Laughlin City."

She hitched her duffle bag higher on her shoulder and entered the building. It stank something fierce, and there were more code violations than patrons, she was sure. She shouldered her way past the cage of men beating each other on the way to the bar. The crowd was frenzied. Since the MRA had passed and the holding camps established, the social climate had worsened. People were starting to turn on each other. There were rumors of a plague rolling across the world, sent by God to cleanse the world of sinners. Bullshit. But people were on edge now. It was like watching a dam crack, and Marie was scared as hell she would be in the wrong place when it finally broke. A hand on her arm stopped her forward progress. "Hey honey, ya spilled m'drink. How you gon' make it up t'me?" A very drunk man had her arm clenched in his fist. He pulled her closer to his face and she could smell sour sweat on him, with not-very-subtle hints of mildew and gingivitis. "Hey! I assed you a question, bitch. How ya gonna repay me for spillin' my drink?"

That fucking asshole wasn't even holding a glass. "Mister, I'm sorry. Please, let go. You're hurting me. I didn't mean-"

"You're gunna needta do better'n that, sweetheart." He started dragging her along. Her eyes searched the room, but if anyone saw what was happening they didn't care enough to stop it. Her pleas were drowned out by the din of a bloodthirsty crowd cheering over old country and western music. They were at a doorway. Marie didn't know where it led, and didn't intend to find out.

_Fuck. I fucking hate doing this._ She had pulled the glove off of her free hand with her teeth._ Deep breath. Get ready. Ok._ He still had a hold of her arm, and almost brought her with him when he fell. She looked around - shit, people had noticed that. _Play it off, Rogue._

"That's the worst case of whiskey-dick I've ever seen!" Perfect delivery. Questionable content. She smiled with her best Innocent Marie face at the nearest guy who was staring.

_You dirty mutant whore! What did you do to me, you mutie cunt?_

_Can it, Prince Charming. I asked you nicely and you didn't let go. You had it coming._ She cut him off with an effort, but it was definitely time for Rogue to exit stage left so she could box this asshole in with all the rest of the assholes who tried to take by force what she would not willingly give. This time she kept to the edges of the room. The night air was freezing and getting colder, but there was no way in hell she could stay here any more. She would have to keep walking.

One good thing about walking was that she had plenty of time to suppress her new headspace roommate. The obvious downside was that she hadn't been able to feel her feet for the last two miles. Kilometers. Whatever. She stumbled a few times, and cursed the fact that every pain hurts more when you're cold. When the perfectly nondescript sedan pulled up next to her, she was so grateful to get in that she didn't even see the syringe that put her down.

**One Month Later…**

She scrambled away from the opening cell door. _Oh god no, I can't take it. No more, please no more._ Whimpers and unintelligible cries filled the room as she rocked in the corner. She'd been locked in here naked for the past 12 hours, after the last time they had her strapped to the table. Her skin was checkered with wounds, some scabbed and cracking, some fresh.

"Really, 247... The way you're carrying on. How disgusting. These are just the preliminary tests. We haven't even gotten to the fun part. Tut tut. Be a good doggy now, and you might get a bone later." The white clad woman raised a gloved hand and released the dart that had Rogue subsided into a messy puddle within moments.

_Is this all there is? Was everything before a dream?_ Her last conscious thoughts were of despair.

"Wake up. 247, you need to wake up and go." She heard a man coughing wetly. She cracked open her eyelids and saw him, and cringed away instinctively. There was blood spatter on his lips. There was a lot of blood on him, actually.

_What…?_

"I'm letting you go. Everyone is dead. They're all dead. I don't-" His form shook with the intensity of his coughs. Blood trickled from his nose. "I don't want to go to Hell. Everyone is dead. I'm next. I don't want to g-" He spasmed and fell. His words came more weakly now. A mumbled prayer.

She was being set free. She was free. She didn't bother to reply as she skirted him and limped out the door. It was the first time she left the cell on her own feet.


	9. Prologue - Marie (part 3)

**Author's Note:**

So, the first thing you're gonna notice is how much fricken better this is compared to the previous chapters. This is entirely because the wonderful and generous Emmagem803 has agreed to beta this story! ALL HAIL THE GLORIOUS EMMAGEM803! Massive thank you goes to everyone who has reviewed and read so far, I never expected people to actually LIKE my first real full length solo fan fic. I'm fucking flabbergasted, to be honest. God I love you guys.

As always, if you spot something that needs work or is confusing please let me know and I'll fix it somehow. If you like the change let me know! If you don't like the change, leave me an insulting limerick? That would be rad.

PS- formatting on this site is fucking me all up. if something doesn't seem right let me know? Pretty please with a growly Logan on top?

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Gentle ferns and softly swaying broad leaves in many shapes bracketed the pines that lined the road. The peaceful scenery gave away nothing of the atrocities committed in the concrete buildings sheltered at the end of it. Marie's feet were still lacerated from her treatment at the lab, and every step towards freedom was bought at the cost of a hissing wince and a blood speckled footprint.

After the first few bends in the road her feet fell blessedly numb, and the frigid morning breeze turned into a bitter caress rather than a stinging slap. She began to shiver and burn in turns, depending on whether she was in the shade or the pure sunlight. The forest was silent in the way that forests were, with a thousand small sighs and whispers of life continuing the way it has for the past millennia. The animal part of her brain, the only part currently functioning, felt comforted by the rightness of it.

She passed several dirt side trails, ranging from deer paths to deeply rutted and potholed one lane roads. There was no way of knowing what, if anything, lay at the end of those. Marie currently didn't have enough of her mind functioning to spare for curiosity, and so she walked by them without hesitation. Hours passed. Her skin became dry and hot, and started to feel as if it were pulled tight against her malnourished frame. There was sweat trickling down her face and body and it stung where it mingled with some of her fresher wounds. As she minced along, her feet moved from numb to agonizing and back several times - it felt like she was walking on raw meat now. The pain narrowed her limited focus to the immediate need to keep setting one foot in front of the other, and escape from **them**.

The bright yellow clapboard was so incongruous amid the endless verdancy that she couldn't place it at first. Marie stopped walking and stared for several moments, letting the sight curl around her brain. It was a house.

She started again, each step more painful now for the rest. She crossed the last few feet on hands and knees. There were wind chimes hanging in the porch. A dead potted plant. A garden gnome leered at her from beneath papery yellow husks.

She stared at the door and listened. After a long while she was satisfied that she heard no sounds from within, and she turned the knob. Locked. A frustrated whine tickled the back of her throat. The nearest windows were set off of the porch, farther than she could reach from its confines. She banged her fist experimentally against the door and winced at it's solid mass. She leaned against it in despair, turning her head from side to side in denial that she could be balked when she was so close to being able to help herself.

Once more she saw the gnome, this time through a curtain of her hair. It's smug face seemed to be laughing at her. She voiced her rage with a snarl, snatched it from its rotten bower, then threw it downward with both arms and all of her frustration - and stared, shocked, at the key glinting among the shards of ceramic. Keys unlocked doors.

It only took her 10 minutes to force her shaking hands to insert the key in the proper direction and turn it.

The front door opened into a wide, bright alcove. There were shoes and coats tumbled across a threshold containing a scuffed bench and an old fashioned coat rack. An umbrella leaned against one wall. Marie followed the carpet runner past a living room, kitchen, and bathroom. There were two bedrooms at the end of the hall. She was alert, tense through her continued pain as she crept on hands and knees and searched for signs current occupation. The smaller room was musty smelling and sparsely furnished. The larger room looked as if a small tornado had hit it. Papers and clothes were strewn over all the surfaces and a good deal of the floor. Her glance paused at the bed. _Safety. Warmth. Comfort._ Half dim remembrances of feeling loved and protected flashed at her and were just as quickly pushed aside. Those things didn't apply to her world any more.

She left the bedrooms and limped toward the kitchen and memories of comfort and nourishment. She'd been at the lab for long enough for the trauma and psychosuppressive drugs they kept her on to shut down all but the most basic parts of her mind. The earliest memories, and the most basic instincts. Those were all she had to work with right now, but they were enough. _I could stay here for a short while,_ she thought without words. _Not long, because** they** could still be close enough to find me, but long enough to recover a little._ She took her rummaged nourishment to the farthest darkest corner in the house and hunkered down.

The room was spinning. Someone was making distressing sounds - pitiful whining noises that grated on her eardrums. Her eyes opened and the scant light caused her head to erupt in pain, and she sank back towards darkness.

Everything hurt. Everything hurt, and Marie couldn't think because the blackness that surrounded her was impossibly spinning, and every tiny desperate thought that tried to whisper through her mind made the pain worse. _Mama. Help me. Help me, Mama, please._ A wordless, instinctual cry to a woman long dead who had rejected her long ago. An eternity passed before unconsciousness came again.

The first thing she was aware of was that the ground seemed to be firmly beneath her. The second was the foul-sweet bitterness of bile coating her tongue and teeth, torturing her parched soft tissues. Her sense of smell kicked in and she gagged at the echoes of the taste in her mouth being reinforced by the stench in front of her face. _Oh sweet merciful baby Jesus. Water. I need water._

She lost 'down' again when she maneuvered onto her arms, but a few panting breaths with her forehead pressed against the cool flesh of her forearms restored enough of it to let her heave her bottom into the air, centered over the jelly currently replacing her knees and legs. She made her way toward the smell of tile and antiseptic that was bonded so closely in her memory to the sensation of running water. Her journey was marked with frequent bouts of nausea and overshadowed by a blinding headache that centered in the top of her head. An eternity later found her pulling herself up with the aid of a counter, then fumbling with half remembered shining spigots. A blissful waterfall rewarded her efforts.

She let it run over her fingers for some moments before shoving her face underneath as best she could and slurping until her belly grew heavy and uncomfortable. A wrenching second later she was helplessly expelling every drop that she had just drunk down, until all that she knew was a painful ache in her abdomen, the stars behind her closed eyes, and the fluttering panic caused by cells screaming out for oxygen. She wilted against the cold countertop, panting. A rather large belch caused her sense of absurdity to surface, and her aching stomach muscles contracted painfully for a few more moments until the hysterical laughter bubbling up from her ceased.

_Good lord in heaven. Let's try this again._ She took only a few mouthfuls this time, and then sank downward until the rough fluffy tines of the bathroom rug embraced her. She closed her eyes and thought only of the sensations of her abused belly and the dust and bleach scent underneath her head until she slept.

When she woke the next time, the waterfall had slowed to a trickle. Her mind was much more active now, and her skin no longer stung with exposure and sun damage. She drank cupped mouthfuls of the life giving liquid and then spun the spigot into the closed position. Marie found that her mind was becoming more and more clear as time passed. She was still far more drugged and foggy than not, but she had enough higher level reasoning now to recognize the need for a full set of clothing, including shoes and socks. The main bedroom yielded everything she needed to outfit herself, though the things she found were mostly oversized. In the back of the closet she found a full length hunter green jacket with a hood on it, and sliding it on felt right somehow. For the first time in her limited memory, she wasn't cold anymore. She settled in the kitchen to eat one last meal before leaving the domicile that had sheltered her while she healed. When she began walking down the single lane highway once more, it was with a grim determination to survive. Marie had lived through far too much now for the thought of giving up to occur to her.

Dusk was approaching. Sometimes cheerful, sometimes dingy clapboard had been occurring less and less frequently as the day progressed. When the light had all but faded into twilight she spotted a tiny log cabin a few hundred feet from the road. _It's time to stop for the night. This will do. Unlocked, good. That's good. It's so small, will it have what I need?_ In the corner was a desk with several hard plastic and corded contraptions, and a small pile of papers. She found she could remember how to read the runes lining the paper after focusing on them. Words she understood and words she didn't danced through her mind as she rifled through them. Numbers. 'Gross Net Pay.' Letterheads with intimidating symbols decorating them. 'We regret to inform… Evacuate immediately…' 'Appreciate your valuable contributions to humanity…' 'Department of National Defense...' Slowly the meaning of these phrases became apparent to her. They were talking about the lab. This was where the people who had held and tortured her lived and slept. Marie's body felt like it was on fire, and yet made out of ice at the same time.

The monsters who had kept her and done those things to her, this was where they rested when they weren't violating her in every twisted way they could imagine. Her abdominal muscles still ached from the unaccustomed abuse they had suffered days earlier, which only added to her agony as she heaved time and again against the unpredicted humanization of her demons. Her mind was clear enough now to put together the shreds of information indicating that this was a community made up of her captors. She felt a transient urge for revenge, but those responsible were forever past her reach. The damnable drugs had worn off enough by this point for her to realize this.

Once more, a sense of helpless rage infused her. She crumpled the pages under her fingers and swept them to the side. The rest of the bric a brac resting on the desk's surface followed them to the floor. She grabbed the cheap office chair by it's armrests and flung it, crashing into the nightstand. Two wooden bar stools met their splintery fates against the stained formica counter top before her rage left her. She felt drained. She collapsed onto the bed and drew herself into a tight ball, and welcomed unconsciousness when it stilled her rocking motions.

The morning saw her marching grimly down the highway once again. She passed the first few vehicles she saw. Her thirst prompted the exploration of a corpse laden jeep around midday. She was rewarded with a duffle full of imperishables and water bottles, but she didn't yet have the faculties to bring it with her when she was sated. When evening came she curled into herself in the ditch by the side of the road, covered herself with some dried boughs and debris, and slept dreamlessly.

Her trudging the next day eventually brought her to a bridge over a small creek. Her thirst by then had become all she could think about. She made herself sick again by over imbibing. Her sarcastic self castigation was small comfort, but small comforts were a bounty after the drought of self she'd been suffering. She felt almost buoyant when a small chuckle escaped her parched lips after telling herself, _'Well at least this time the well won't run dry when I pass the fuck out.'_

She didn't pass out, but she did spend some uncomfortable hours curled next to a broken stump not far from the running water. She was there long enough to see several animals approach and drink. When, once more, the cramping had mostly ceased, she drank a carefully measured amount. That was the last time she made herself sick on water.


	10. Prologue - Marie (part 4)

**Author's Note:** So, I'm sick of writing this section. The beginning may have gotten a little more attention than the end in this section, but hopefully it's not too jarring of difference. Honestly, I'd rather gloss over the scary parts because I'm something of a scaredy-cat. Good news - the prologues are officially fucking over! Now we can get to the meat of the story! YEAH! We're damn near caught up to 'Untitled' now! By the way, if someone could tell me how to upload to FF without it stripping all of my motherfucking formatting, I'd die a happy woman.

Undying thanks to my lovely and talented beta Emmagem803, who didn't even complain when I cried 'Mercy!' on this section.

(parentheses) indicates memories or dreams

Italics indicate thoughts

* * *

Some days later she awoke from another dreamless sleep. Her arm had been tossed over her face to keep out the intruding daylight, and she wrinkled her nose at the stench she suddenly became aware of.

_Faugh! That's really rank._

She looked at her dirt crusted nails, and dirt stained hands. The clothes she wore were also, surprise, crusty with dirt. She climbed out of the ditch she had slept in and prepared herself to spend another day in her odorous garments.

_I need to find a bath. Or at least stop avoiding the rain. I wonder if there is running water somewhere still? Hm. Running water._

There was no running water in any of the houses she checked that afternoon. She did find some clothes in her size however, and some food left which hadn't rotted or been eaten by mice, ants, or other scavengers. Marie forced herself to use the freezing water flowing in the creeks. It was unpleasant, but had a side benefit of letting her remember a colorful variety of curse words.

_Firecrackers and fiddlesticks, this must be the coldest crick on God's green Earth. Lordy. And if I'm not mistaken that's rain I'm smelling. Yep, it'll be a big 'un, too I bet. Might as well find a place to stay. Can't be catching my death o' cold now that I'm all cleaned up._

Her mind was recovering in leaps and bounds. It seemed that every activity triggered a slew of memories, and helped her feel like more of a person with each small gain. She now had possessions - a waterproofed canvas backpack filled with food and water, and a warm blanket. She knew her own name, and the words for most of what she saw. She put herself to sleep each night by going over what she had done that day, and seeing what she could learn from her mistakes. Tonight was no different, only when she paused to ruminate over bathing, she was overtaken by a vivid memory.

(Bubbles, and the scent of bubblegum. Water, just the right temperature. A soft voice singing her a silly song. A childish version of her own voice, saying, "Mama I love you!")

_There was an ache in her chest. Oh Mama. Daddy. Why'd you try to turn me in? Why didn't you love me enough? It wasn't my fault. I didn't mean to hurt that boy. Not like they meant to hurt me._

She cried herself the rest of the way to sleep, where she dreamt for the first time since her escape.

(She was strapped down to a cold metal table. She could feel hard nylon biting into her wrists and abrading the sensitive skin of her armpits and breastbone. Her legs were strapped down above her knees and at her ankles. She couldn't move her head but she could hear detached voices discussing a procedure in between snippets of gossip. "No, grab the 23s… subdermic… Anyway, John… working late the entire week - yeah, those too. Just in case she… bleed out again. So Barbara decides to surprise him…" She can't move. She can't speak. Her vocal cords aren't responding to her, all she can do is make a low pitched whine, barely audible to her own ears. She blinks and rolls her eyes in her head frantically as two figures come into view, shrouded in white. She can't see what they're doing but one of her legs starts to blossom with a searing pain. "Take note… involuntary muscle contractions. Percutaneous access… Great saphenous vein established, introducer sheath in place. Catheter installed without incident… immunosuppressive commenced at.. 0940." Her whole body burned. She was on fire. She couldn't move. Then the familiar pressure of scalpels on her skin began. She finally found her voice, and her hoarse screams echoed endlessly, until she choked on them.)

She was still screaming as she shuddered awake.

The emergence or her memories and dreams woke some of the personalities she'd absorbed. The earliest ones were faint whispers. The newest - the man in Laughlin who was the harbinger of her capture, the guard she caught on the way to her first cell, the doctor who had been too careless while conducting one of his more personal and brutal experiments - those remnants of monsters long dead by the impersonal touch of the virus had remained to berate and abuse her.

Despite her haunted sleep and tortured waking periods, she found some small solace in her new routine of touring and helping herself from the small towns that lined this tiny highway. She was forced to flee though, after her routine went horribly wrong. She had approached a new town with a dangerous complacency, and been attacked by a pair of men who grinned with malice and described in vivid detail what they would do with her when they caught her. She ran for hours, far past the time when she stopped hearing their crashing steps following her. It was getting on into the hottest part of the day when she stumbled and couldn't rise.

She didn't know where she was. She didn't know how to get back to any sort of road or civilization. She was well and thoroughly lost. She'd eaten the what had remained of her stowed food before entering the town, and her last sip of water had been the night before. Her feet were wet and she vaguely remembered fording a few streams in her escape, but the thought of turning back and walking towards what she had just fled was worse than the dryness in her throat. Somehow her eyes found a hidden reserve of moisture and wasted a good deal of it with hysterical sobbing. Marie fell into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep after the last of the sobs faded. Those fragments of formerly living garbage had no place in her world now. It was time to get serious about living. The sun was about to rise. She had to keep moving. She told herself over and over again, that she must keep walking. She had to keep going. No matter what, she needed to put one foot in front of the other, and she would be okay. It became her marching rhythm.

_Keep moving. Keep walking. Keep moving. Keep walking._

**Two weeks later...**

Marie couldn't shake the hopeless, frustrated feeling that she was surrounded by food, if she only knew how to see it. The gut wrenching pain caused by innocent looking red berries however, had put her off of any more experimentation. She was weak with hunger and malnourishment now, staggering along in a daze, and stopping only at each creek and stream to lay on the bank and drink her fill. She didn't want to repeat the slow agony of thirst that had caught her in her second week of wandering. Desperation had forced her to drink from mud puddles when the morning dew beaded on tiny broad leaves did nothing to dry the desert wasteland of her mouth. She barely remembered any longer why it was that she had to keep moving, keep walking. She didn't know how to stop.

She didn't notice the huge bear until it was already charging at her. She had a brief moment of clarity where she thought, This is how I end. She didn't feel any fear, only a strange kind of relief. Then she was sailing through the air and a painful second later, blackness claimed her.


End file.
